


Live and Let Die

by the_last_dillards



Series: Kinktober 2020 [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dom Julian Bashir, Dubious Consent Fantasy, Gunplay, Kinktober, M/M, Object Insertion, Painplay, Post-Episode: s04e10 Our Man Bashir, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: Julian had shot him. Julian—kind, caring, benevolent, foolishly naive, idealistic Julian—had shot him in the neck to prevent him from ending the program. The thought had plagued Garak’s mind for days now.Kinktober Day 2: Gunplay
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Kinktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945888
Comments: 24
Kudos: 78





	Live and Let Die

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for dubcon fantasies (from the POV of the sub) and also potentially some slightly gross talk about wounds.
> 
> Update! Podfic version by yohlenyaoilover now available here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26877235>

Julian had shot him.

Julian—kind, caring, benevolent, foolishly naive, idealistic Julian—had shot him in the neck to prevent him from ending the program.

The thought had plagued Garak’s mind for days now. 

He had thought there was perhaps a small chance that Julian would prove him wrong, prove himself to be made up of more than childish fantasies of unsullied heroism but Garak hadn’t dared to truly _hope._

Julian had been cold, impassive, unruffled by the fact that he’d just taken Garak’s life into his hands and could’ve very well killed him.

What Garak would give to make that happen again. 

Julian hadn’t apologized either, not even after the game had ended. Garak would’ve been disappointed if he had.

Instead, Julian had tried to repair his neck ridge. Even had gone to Garak’s quarters with a dermal regenerator after the crew had been released from the infirmary. 

Garak had refused, of course. A mark such as the one he now bore ought to be kept and treasured. A momento from that magnificent moment.

His refusal had seemed to make Julian angry in some way that Garak didn’t totally understand. But in the end, Julian had settled for disinfecting the wound and giving him gauze and tape to keep over it. 

This Garak acquiesced. It wouldn’t do to get blood on any of his good outfits, after all.

Afterwards, Julian had quietly left. It was disappointing to say the least. 

Where had all that passion and determination gone?

Their Hong Kong lunch the next day wasn’t much different. Julian seemed much less enthusiastic about playing through his holoprogram than he had before, and Garak couldn’t help but think that he was the one who had brought that on. Sucked a piece of joy from the doctor’s life.

Something in their relationship had changed with that moment. Continued to change and Garak couldn’t quite decipher what or where it was headed.

Instead, his mind was continually focused upon that initiating moment. A single shot from an ancient projectile weapon and a sharp pain. 

Garak felt the wound with his hand. It still smarted but had long scabbed over and no longer bled. It would likely scar and if it seemed to be healing a little too well, then he’d pull the scab right off a few times to make sure that it did.

Perhaps he was becoming a romantic with his advancing age but every time he felt that sting, it was like receiving a kiss. An invisible Julian Bashir who lavished his neck with violent attentions and followed him throughout his day.

Garak pushed harder on it.

He’d spent several nights since the incident laying awake to contemplate Julian and the weapon that had done it again. 

It was perhaps slightly embarrassing to admit, but he had noticed a certain phallic quality to these ‘gun’ weapons. It was a silly thought, really. Most objects could be assigned as having phallic or yonic qualities with a dirty enough mind. One didn’t sit around in the replimat and contemplate the symbolic implications of flowers in a vase. 

Still, there was a certain appeal to the idea. 

It took the mind places.

To Julian, stern and stringent in his demands, taking things further. Making his point to Garak.

A shot to the neck and then Garak, still disobedient, opening his mouth to try again, only to be shoved into a wall.

Julian would hold the gun just under his chin, a hand rough in his hair, daring him to try it again.

And Garak, aroused from the moment of the first _bang!_ , wouldn’t be able to hold himself in. His prUt would evert right into his trousers beyond his control and Julian would feel it. Look him in the eye and know how affected he was by this demonstration of dominance.

It would be used against him, of course. These things always were if the perpetrator wasn’t a coward or a fool.

The gun would stay in place, pressing hard into the soft spot beneath his jaw, but Julian would let go of his hair and shift back just enough to reach for Garak’s waistband, undoing it. His trousers would be pushed to his knees, and Julian would glance down to see him so pathetically exposed, pinkish and shining with slick in the tunnel lights.

Perhaps it would invigorate him, the sight of Garak’s sex so vulnerable and on display. He might run curious fingers along it, examining the texture and sensitive parts, pushing a finger or two into its hiding place. And Garak would be unable to do anything about it but whimper and whine in a pathetic display. 

But Julian would like that. Would enjoy his wordless submission. 

So much so that he’d bring his hand back up, covered in gleaming slick, and grab Garak’s hair again, getting it in a filthy disarray but uncaring. Then he’d finally move the gun from its place, the underside of Garak’s jaw no doubt bruised, and keep it pointed at Garak as he let it drift down to his slit.

The first press of the barrel into him would be uncomfortable. A sudden unexpected stretch to something hard and unyielding, excruciatingly cold and dry. But Garak would take it. 

Julian would force him to look him in the eye as well. Challenging him to try opening his mouth again or fight Julian’s power over him. But Garak would already have been well cowed into submission, where he was meant to be.

It would slide inside him centimeter by centimeter, his poor abused ajan adjusting to the intrusion as it went. 

He’d take it in all the way to the trigger, Julian’s warm fingers pressed right up to the sensitive lips of his slit, and there it would stay, his body twitching around the stiff object in him, both trying to push the unnatural thing out and responding with pleasure to being filled.

Maybe even, Julian would release his hair again to pinch at his neck ridge. Take the ridge in two fingers, wound bleeding sluggishly between them and _press—_

And then suddenly, Garak was coming.

In the real world, he hadn’t even had the chance to evert yet, only fingering his wounded neck but now he felt strangely wet and loose inside, empty.

He let go of the ridge, only to find red coating his fingers. It seemed that in his enthusiasm, he’d accidentally broken open the edge of the scab.

Garak sighed and went to find something to dab it with. It wouldn't do to get blood on one of his good outfits.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I was going to do an OMB au for this prompt, where there’s something built into the program to give you extra time while you’re screwing around, but trying to fit gunplay into there felt too OOC for Julian so here we are instead. Feel free to anyone that wants to steal that basic plot tho.
> 
> Update! There is now a fic with the plot described above. [Go read Sapphose's 'Molten'!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797924)
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Live and Let Die [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26877235) by [yohlenyaoilover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohlenyaoilover/pseuds/yohlenyaoilover)




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